“I thought Englishwomen very often had long curls.”
“So they have—but they never appear in a drawing-room with curl-papers.”
“They certainly are very unbecoming,” said Crescenz, again inspecting herself in the glass. “I have a great mind to arrange my braids again. After all, my hair will perhaps fall out of curl during the first waltz. You know, Hildegarde, at the examinations I was obliged to fasten up the curls with a comb?”
“Yes, but I remember the curls became you extremely——”
“Hildegarde,” whispered Crescenz, coming close to her sister, “you know Mr. Hamilton cannot go to the ball, and if he thinks the curl-papers so very ugly——”
“I should think Major Stultz’s opinion of more consequence to you,” answered Hildegarde; “and,” she added loud enough to be heard, “you know if Mr. Hamilton dislike so much seeing curl-papers, he has only to avoid looking at us for the remainder of the day.”
Hamilton closed his book, looked out of the window at the thickly-falling snow, and then left the room. Crescenz immediately exclaimed, “Oh, Hildegarde, you have offended him! How can you be so unkind?”
“Is it unkind to tell him not to look at us for a few hours?” Hildegarde asked, laughing.
“You are so unnecessarily rude to him sometimes—yesterday evening, for instance, you scarcely answered him when he spoke to you.”
“Because I was occupied with my father. I hope you have no objection to my preferring his conversation to Mr. Hamilton’s!”